Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (174 page)

Under the twelve steaming shower jets which crashed on him from all four walls, Abdullah was feeling satisfied with
himself. As he soaped himself vigorously, visions of glory filled
his mind. It had already occurred to him that the Jewish actress
was a chain around his neck and that the holy war was far more important. Tomorrow Daliah Boralevi would be shot
and buried in the sand. . . .

Somewhere over Jordan:

Najib entered the dark cockpit of the 727-100 and took over
co-pilot duties for a while. Long ago, he had discovered that
helping to fly the big jet relaxed him and soothed his nerves.
On this night, however, sitting in front of the multicoloured lights and glowing dials, he was discovering that for once it
was only making him more tense. . . .

Dani was in one of the compact toilets, smearing camouflage
gel over his face. He cursed as the jet hit turbulence. He was
not in the least bit surprised to find that his skin was clammy
and his hands were shaking. Not only was this suicidal mission
fraying his nerves, but ever since he had been shot down by the Germans during the war, with his plane exploding in midair, it
was all he could do to board a plane. . . .

Schmarya felt his pulse tripping, and knew without checking
that his blood pressure had risen dangerously. He glanced
around the luxuriously funished cabin and wondered for the
hundredth time whether any of them stood a chance of surviv
ing. The odds were almost five to one. Against. . . .

* * *

And in Jerusalem:

Chaim Golan was feeling the wrath of a head of state. The meeting was informal, unofficial, and took place in the book-
lined library of the prime minister's house. Chaim was begin
ning to wish he had turned down Schmarya Boralevi's request.
Or better yet, that he'd never even heard of him.

The prime minister sat silently on a comfortable overstuffed
chair. Telephone lines to key people in the government were
open, and the military had been put on full alert. Otherwise,
there was nothing to do but wait. . . .

At its cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, the jet left Jordanian air-space and entered the skies of Saudi Arabia.

Chapter 23

'See anything yet?' Dani asked as the clock inched past two-
twenty-five a.m.

'No.' Schmarya shook his head. Shielding the glare from
the bright cabin with his cupped hands, he was peering out the
square Perspex window. All he saw was blackness, blackness, and yet more blackness. The jet was streaking above the Rub'
al-Khali, the Empty Quarter, and it lived up to its name. For the last two hours, there had not been a single light to be seen
anywhere below. He glanced at his watch: ETA was in twenty
minutes.

Turning away from the window, he pushed the control but
ton on the side of his seat, which slowly swivelled the chair
around, and glanced about the cabin. If it hadn't been for the
deadly seriousness of the mission, it would have made for an
extraordinarily amusing sight. Seated around the flying Arab
palace were seventeen crack Israeli commandos, volunteers
all, and all with faces smeared black and bodies encased in
tight black stretch jumpsuits. They looked, he thought, more like futuristic chimney sweeps than commandos on a live-or-die mission. Only there was nothing amusing about it—a fact
which the presence of the one man not in black confirmed. He
was the Israeli military surgeon accompanying the mission.
He would remain on the plane during the assassination-and
rescue attempt and treat any of the wounded men on the
return flight. Schmarya felt an inordinate pride. He was hon
oured to be among them. They were a group who believed in
taking care of their own.

At the moment, everything seemed to be on a forward slant,
and the plane was shaking. The turbulence increased as they
descended into warmer air. On the floor were Uzi submachine
guns, American M16-A1's, portable shoulder rocket launchers, flamethrowers, and an array of other greasy, high-tech
West German, Soviet, and Israeli weaponry. They were ready
to be grabbed up the instant before touchdown, and in the
turbulence, they clattered and rattled metallically against one
another.

Schmarya swivelled his seat further around and looked over
at Dani, seated on the other side of the low table they shared.
'Nervous, Dani?' Schmarya asked in a low voice.

Dani raised his head. He was a strange sight—all black face,
white eyes, and white teeth. 'Nervous?' he asked. There was
just the slightest hesitation. 'I suppose so.' He gave a tight
little smile. 'Yes.'

'I am nervous too. If it gives you any comfort, think of the
old days. It's like bicycle riding: I don't think you can ever
lose your touch. You used to be one of the best, you know.'

'I'm old now.'

Schmarya laughed. 'You're young.
I'm
the one who's old.
Too old to be playing war games, and far too old to dress up
like it's Halloween.' Oh, yes, he thought with satisfaction,
Dani would be all right.

Najib, also black-faced to melt into the night, was making
his way aft from the cockpit. He stopped at Schmarya's seat. 'Captain Childs has just contacted the helicopter. It is in posi
tion five miles south of the palace. He will radio them again
exactly five minutes before we touch down. That way it will
arrive simultaneously with us.'

Schmarya looked up at him. He was amazed at the man's calm—for that matter, at everyone's calm, his own included. He glanced around. Seventeen crack troops, he thought, plus Dani, Najib, and myself. Twenty men. Twenty-two, if I count
the two at the palace.

His face hardened. He could only hope that twenty-two of
them would be enough. Not that the commandos weren't first
rate. They were superb; watching them drill had proven that.
No matter what they did, they worked together as finely as
the precisely tuned gears inside a Swiss watch, each of them a
different articulated part of one host body: totally in synchron
ization, consummately courageous, and with an all-for-one-and-one-for-all Musketeer loyalty. If this mission succeeded,
it would be because of them.

But, he reminded himself, Abdullah's forces of a hundred
or so had more than mere numbers on their side. They had the messianic madness of their leader to inspire them, and,
depending on how one looked upon them, they were the hun
dred heads of a very lethal hydra. It would be folly to discount
the strength and fighting abilities of a lean, mean fighting machine. Abdullah and his men lived to destroy, and if they were half as good as it was claimed, then element of surprise
or no, the small force of twenty and the two in the palace were
headed into the face of death, never to return.

It was a sobering thought.

'Do you mind if I join you?' Najib asked, indicating the
empty seat behind Schmarya.

'It's your plane,' Schmarya said with a laugh. 'Be my guest.'
He activated the swivel mechanism and did a 90-degree turn
in his chair so he would face him.

Najib nodded at Dani, who now sat behind Schmarya, and
then swallowed several times as he took a seat. As always, the
change in cabin pressure clogged his ears. By habit he glanced
at the computer map at the front bulkhead. There were four
teen minutes to go.

Eight hundred and forty seconds to zero hour.

Najib nodded to himself. He could only pray that Allah was
on their side. The mission had to go like clockwork; a single
foul-up could have endless ramifications. The fallout from this
rescue mission would have far-reaching consequences for the Israelis, but most of all for him. For even if the mission were
successful, if word somehow leaked out that he had joined
forces with the Jews and mounted a mission against his own
people, he would be
persona non grata
in the entire Arab
world and would not have long to live. Even more hated than
Jews were Arab traitors.

He tightened his lips grimly. Right now, it was best not to
think of such things.

Schmarya watched Najib closely. He could tell from the
shadow that came into Najib's eyes exactly what he was think
ing. The thoughts were not that much different from his own.

Thirteen minutes.

Near the front of the cabin, the young Israeli captain in charge of the commandos got to his feet. He stood cockily in
the centre of the aisle, legs spread, hands resting on lean lips.
'If you gentlemen will please give me your undivided attention
for a moment,' he called out in strong voice. 'I know we have
been through all this already, but I'll go through it one last time since we haven't had that much time to drill. So listen
carefully. Have your weapons in hand the moment we touch
ground. We're coming in totally blacked out, and you'll be
forewarned by the captain before the lights go out. We'll use
the emergency slide chutes to exit the plane, and since it's
going to be dark out, take extra care. The one thing we can't
afford is for any of you to have an accident before the shooting
begins. I don't have to tell you that there are few enough of
us as it is. The helicopter seats six, which includes the pilot,
and will drop us off inside the compound in relays of five.
That's four trips. The alarms on the palace grounds should have been disconnected by now, but in case they weren't or
something goes wrong, be prepared for them to go off. I don't
need to warn you that we're dealing with a zealous group of
terrorists. Shoot first and ask questions later. We can't afford to take prisoners, and we certainly cannot afford to let a single
one of us be taken. The instant the woman is found, fire off a
red flare. Once Abdullah's death is confirmed, fire off a yellow
one. When both have been fired, that is the signal to regroup and withdraw. Being a civilian, the woman goes on the first helicopter relay back to the plane. Any questions?' He looked
around the cabin.

One of the commandos raised his hand.